


A Moment's Silence

by nsmorig



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau Has Issues, Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Girls Kissing, Kinda, you know its Lesbian when i name it after a hozier song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsmorig/pseuds/nsmorig
Summary: Keg's got really nice hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> classic. intends to write some smut and winds up writing Gay Softness. that said, there may be actual smut, in like, a month when i get my shit together n finish chapter two.
> 
> made myself sad about beau n keg lads. attacking myself in my own home

Keg’s got really nice hands.

 

Beau’s just tired enough that the little noticing-bad-things machine in her head has shut up, and all her unused perception has turned its way to Keg like a plant growing towards the sunrise.

 

They’re sitting on some wall, having wandered off together in a triumphant haze, and the dark night, moment by moment, is draining away. It’s cold, the world visible in watercolour shades of grey, and Keg’s hand rests on the stone between them. It’s broad and strong and tanned, tendons visible in the wrist, flecked with red in the creases between her knuckles.

 

Keg must be able to see fine.

 

Beau feels kinda pathetic, actually. She didn’t want to-- interrupt whatever emotional reunion her friends are having. She’d fuck it up. Say something stupid. So she’s here, instead, and looking at the way Keg’s fingers move as she thinks, and. Well. She doesn’t know quite what she thinks she’s doing.

 

She looks up. Keg looks away. She watches a blush rise in dark circles on Keg’s cheeks, a smudge in the darkness, and thinks, _oh._

 

She huffs a cough, tilts her head back. Swallows. Feels Keg’s eyes on her again, heavy and warm now that she’s noticed.

 

“D’you know,” Keg murmurs-- and it _is_ a murmur, lower than usual, rumbling slow and thoughtful-- “I really didn’t think I’d be getting out of here alive.”

 

There’s no question in it.

 

The wall they’re sitting on suddenly seems very, very high, like the mist curling from the grass is cloud. Like they’s somewhere above the world.

 

Beau has her fingertips resting on the top of Keg’s palm before she realises she’s moved. There’s one long moment where Beau holds her breath before Keg turns her hand and threads their fingers together.

 

“The whole time,” she continues, “I felt like at the last moment I was gonna run. Like I was gonna save my own skin and get out of dodge and hate myself the entire time.”

 

She stubs her cigarette out, flicks it to the ground, and Beau watches the blue smoke curl out of her mouth.

 

“An’ I didn’t,” Keg says, and it sounds like a revelation to her. “I kept thinking, ‘I’m going to die here,’ and I just-- didn’t turn around.”

 

Beau lets gravity bring her down, shifts until she’s pressed her shoulder to Keg’s. Her armour is cold.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Beau says, and her breath forms great clouds of fog. “I’m glad you didn’t run, and I’m glad you didn’t die here.”

 

She’s not sure how much of a lie that is. She’s glad Keg isn’t dead, but-- There has to be a balance to the universe, she thinks. _Someone_ had to die here. If she had a choice-- well. If.

 

She really doesn’t want to think about that.

 

There are a couple sure-fire things she can do to make that thought leave her alone, and she makes an executive decision that she doesn’t want to get into another fight today. She leans in closer, tilts her head back onto Keg’s shoulder, smirks in a way she knows makes people want to put her in her place. She can’t get into a fight, so she’ll try the next best thing.

 

Keg . . . looks at her. Her eyes are huge, her mouth is still, and she doesn’t move. Beau’s heart beats inside her chest like a caged bird.

 

She looks away, towards the white msit curling from the ground, and opens her mouth. Breathes. There’s nothing to say that isn’t obvious, and blood rises in her cheeks. Her face feels hot and she isn’t quite sure why.

 

Keg squeezes her hand. Beau looks up again, and Keg’s smiling now. It’s a tiny smile but it’s there. Her eyes shine with something, and Beau thinks that it can’t possibly be this easy.

 

She shifts forwards again, lets the warmth radiating from Keg soak into her skin. Presses a kiss to the junction of Keg’s jawline and her neck.

 

She means to draw back, start things properly, but Keg smells . . . Nice. Exactly what she’d expected, but more pleasant than it ought to be. Boot polish, iron, activity, smoke. Earth.

 

She lingers for longer than she should, lips closed against Keg’s stubble, and draws back sharply.

 

“Uh,” she says, and stops. Swallows.

 

Keg is looking at her the same, eyes shining, cheeks pink underneath the dirt.

 

“D’you want to stay with me?” she says.

 

_Fuck._

 

She had not meant to say that. She’d meant to say something . . . charming, something smooth, something that would make Keg want to hold her down or make her beg or do whatever Keg wanted from her, not something like _that,_ in her torn-up too-deep voice.

 

Knowing Mother, she sounded like a seven-year-old boy with a crush and a pocketful of desperation.

 

But she wanted Keg to stay, and she wanted to touch her, and her stupid mouth had just _said that._

 

Keg’s other hand-- they’re still _holding hands,_ how childish can she get, why did she ever think this was a good idea-- comes up and her thumb runs along the edge of Beau’s cheekbone, just above a stinging cut. She tucks a strand of Beau’s hair back behind her ear, and smiles at her, hesitant and bright.

 

Beau is wildly, completely out of her depth.

 

“You can sneak out in the morning,” she says, taking far too much care over her words now, trying to fix this. “It won’t be weird.”

 

Keg’s broad cheeks flush dark all at once, and she ducks her head forward, looks down. Her mouth moves silently for a moment, and Beau finds herself staring at her lips, and the high cupid’s bow and the way there are what looks like bite marks stained onto her bottom lip, like she’s been biting it.

 

“Yeah,” Keg says all at once, “Yeah, totally, cool. Cool cool cool.”

 

Her heart’s going again, and Beau wills it to shut up so she can focus.

 

Keg’s fingers slide from her temple down to her jaw, slow and warm, and she’s still smiling, almost a grin, wide and surprised. Beau . . . decides to roll with this, with whatever’s happening here, and moves forward as Keg does.

 

Their noses bump, but Beau slides through that awkwardness, finally, _finally_ fits her mouth over Keg’s.

 

Somehow, for some reason, she smiles too.

 

Her mouth is just as nice as she’d hoped, solid against hers, sweet with copper. Beau’s eyes drift closed, and she can feel Keg’s eyelashes against her cheek. Her stubble has the texture of her buzzed hair, and she runs a thumb over it, feels the sensation hum somewhere under her skin.

 

Her lips aren’t soft, but that’s fine; Keg takes Beau’s lower lip in her own and the brush of teeth is enough that Beau can feel the metal band around her chest begin to loosen. She’s warm, overheating, on the verge of melting, and she’s not sure why. It’s one kiss.

 

She’s still holding her hand.


	2. when she puts her mouth on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys i just keep writing about them im Weak

Beau feels herself drifting forwards without any conscious input, pressing into Keg’s body in a way that would make her ashamed of how easy she’s being if it weren’t for the way Keg is sliding forwards too.

 

Somehow her left hand comes to rest on Keg’s hip, on the point where the leather straps of her armour meet her undershirt, and she slides a finger under the band slowly, letting Keg decide how far she wants to let her go.

 

The answer apparently is ‘that far and no further,’ because Keg jerks back. Beau leans back, and feels cold water roll over her-- but Keg has grabbed her shoulder hard, and Beau blinks as her eyes adjust and she sees that Keg has actually just fallen off the wall entirely.

 

She freezes, and has to hold very still to avoid bursting into laughter as she sees Keg swing an arm around frantically. It doesn't seem to have worked entirely, as the moment she makes eye contact Keg loses her grip again, dissolving into snorting giggles. Beau darts forward and is able to hook a hand under Keg's breastplate, but she's fast, not strong, and they both wind up falling the couple of feet to the damp grass.

 

Keg lands squarely on her back, which is lucky, because Beau lands squarely on top of her. She manages to get her legs under her, which is more than Keg manages, one pointing straight up against the wall. She looks fantastically shocked, and she's still laughing, head thrown back onto the earth and her eyes creased with the most genuine laughter Beau has seen in . . . a very long time. 

 

She bows forwards until her head rests on Keg's, sniggering a little, and realises as she's doing it that her hand is still pressed up to Keg's ribs where she'd caught her. Somehow, this-- glowing from good humour, Keg smiling up at her-- is more intimate than the kiss. The laughter slows, and Keg's hands settle on her hips, and a slow warmth like honey winds its way down Beau's spine. She feels a little like she should be glowing.

"What was it that Shakaste said? Get yourself something nice?" 

 

She's trying to be smooth, but it's tricky when she can feel the muscles in Keg's thighs move. She's stunned, again, by the almost-shy sweetness of Keg's smile, surprised and a little awkward and beautiful in a way Beau's never really been able to process. 

 

She can feel Keg's breathing. Boot polish, iron, smoke. She thinks that right now Keg is the only real thing in the world. She thinks a lot of stupid things.

 

Keg's hands move up to her waist, and she doesn't think much at all. Her fingers are wide and the calluses on the curve of her palm strike sparks on Beau's skin as her thumbs run up the line between her abs and her lats; she tenses her stomach muscles and watches Keg's pupils dilate, like ink in water.

 

She tries to move in for another kiss, but the angle is all wrong and they mash noses for a moment before Beau moves back. She's not used to being the taller girl, and though she likes it in principle, it's awkward in practice. She shuffles back and Keg sways towards her; it's a heady sort of power, and she thinks that maybe this isn't as one-sided as she'd assumed.

 

"Uh," Keg says, and her voice rumbles where Beau is pressed against her. "This grass is really cold."

 

Beau blinks.

 

"I mean. Maybe we should get inside? Before it starts raining, I mean."

 

Beau grins, lets all her weight press down onto Keg's thighs, breathlessly thumbs at the buckles on Keg's breastplate. "I don't know," she says, "I'm comfortable here."

 

Keg sets her jaw, and Beau has to suppress a shiver as she takes her hands off her-- but her eyes as shining with something, and there's no fear. 

 

Then there's flurry of movement, and Beau feels her stomach drop out with giddy arousal as Keg levers herself upright, pulling Beau along until she's wrapped around her, hands braced under her thighs.

 

She licks her lips in a haze, blood humming with adrenaline and something white-hot.

 

She's always been into manhandling, but _ oof. _ Keg grins up at her, smug, and she wishes it wasn't as hot as it was.

 

"Okay then," Beau says, kinda breathy in an embarrassing way, but Keg's hands are slipping towards her ass, so she thinks it's allowed. They could go in through the front, but then Jessie would know-- if she's in any kind of mental state to give a shit, actually-- and Beau's spent a long time learning how not to be ashamed of this but she also doesn't really want to deal with the fuss.

 

"How are we getting inside without having to explain to Nott what sex is," she says into the top of Keg's head, resisting the sudden and inexplicable urge to kiss her forehead and the completely explicable urge to grind down.

 

Keg, though, is a genius, because she fits an open-mouthed kiss to Beau's sternum and says, "There's a side-door to the second floor by the kitchen."

 

==

 

Keg is able to make her way up to the bedrooms without any significant disaster, although she does have to put Beau down halfway up the stairs because she *has* been swinging axes around all day, and her arms are incredible but there's only so much she can take. She tries to apologise by pulling her into an alcove and sliding her tongue back into Beau's mouth, but all that achieves is the (world-changing, if she's honest) experience of Beau grinding onto her leg and clinging to her shoulders.

 

She's too tall. It doesn't work too well, but it's something she's going to think about possibly every day for the rest of her life.

 

Her old door has been painted over red, and she doesn't want to open that closet full of skeletons ever again, but there are rooms for guests (and, she thinks with a little nausea, 'guests,') on the end of the hall behind doors with subtle iron reinforcements and very thick walls. She thinks, with a little spite, that she very much likes the idea of taking those horrible things, the room with no windows and soundproofing, and using it to have an absolutely wonderful time. And, more importantly, give Beau an absolutely wonderful time.

 

She’d caught Beau’s hand again on the walk, running her thumb over the thick calluses on Beau’s knuckles. She’s looking away, and Keg caught a tiny smile at the floor when they’d touched fingers; it’s far more endearing than it should be, with the way Beau holds tight for a moment before she seems to realise what she’s doing.

 

She has to let go, though, because the door is, predictably, locked, and Beau grins bright at her as she flicks out a little leather case of tools from her pockets and jimmies the lock open. Her hands shake, and Keg wishes she hadn’t noticed how her fingers don’t straighten quite right, how the pads of her knuckles are white and red with scar tissue. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen on bare-knuckle fighters before, and she can’t imagine Beau without it, but still.

 

Beau leans back against the door and pushes it open, cocksure grin creasing her face into a smirk that Keg can feel like warmth running down her spine, and walks backwards slowly with her hips moving in a roll that has to be deliberate.  _ Fuck, _ but it’s working.

 

Keg stands in the doorway for a moment, her body full to the brim with something sparking and indescribable. She’s buzzing, head-to-toe, with something caught between wonder and want. She feels her pulse in her ears.

 

The door closes quietly behind her as she steps forward and she feels like it can’t be her, that she isn’t capable of doing anything other than move towards Beau.

 

Beau steps back as she steps forwards, drops backwards onto the bed planted in the middle of the room with a motion that’s a little too smooth to not be very, very difficult. She rolls her head onto her shoulder and smiles sideways, and her cloak slides a little and Keg’s mouth is suddenly dry at the sight of the dip of her collarbone, the way the tendons in her neck move. There’s a tan line on her dark skin at the hem of her cropped shirt.

 

Keg marvels, and marvels some more as she discovers that the bed is just high enough that her head is level with Beau’s. She takes Beau’s face in both her hands, runs her hand over the broad warm curve of cheekbones and just looks at her for a while, the faded bruise that marches down her jaw, the smooth curve of her lower lip and the remnants of kohl in the creases next to her eyes.

 

Beau’s irises are a thin ring of blue against her black pupils in the low light, and her cheeks are warm, and her mouth is dark with kissing; Keg has never felt as worthy as now, Beau looking steadily at her, letting her touch her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOCAL HOMOSEXUAL (me) IS NOT COPING.

**Author's Note:**

> keg and beauregard, sitting on a wall, k-i-s-s-i-n-Fall


End file.
